Phobias
by muertalas
Summary: LightxL. A series of one-shots. Fears are lifechanging in both good ways and bad. They can tear people apart and yet, they can bring people together.
1. Tonitrophobia

**Tonitrophobia -**

_the fear of thunder._

A streak of lightning spanned across the sky as a torrent of rain poured down from the heavens. The city below seemed undisturbed and at peace despite the utter chaos that appeared to have enveloped the area. With a clash, thunder boomed deafeningly and within the dark Kira task force headquarters, a single man sat crouched on the cold floor, trembling in complete fear.

His messy raven hair, wide, doe-like eyes the color of coal, and the various quirks that seemed to define the man had long since been drowned out by horror. The handcuff that had been wrapped around his wrist quivered, irritating the iron chain connecting the man to another, who was asleep in front of a dormant computer, a blanket draped warmly around him.

A boom sounded again, followed by an even louder squeak.

The sleeping male stirred and opened a pair of mahogany eyes, sitting straighter in his chair and shaking the auburn hair out from in front of his face. Pulling the quilt off of him, the obviously younger one gazed down at the shivering silhouette of his colleague.

"Ryuzaki?" he whispered softly. "L? What's wrong?"

L merely shook his head, starting again when another crash rang out around them. The insomniac cried out as the heavens unleashed raw fury on the mortal world and brought his knees closer to his chest.

"Light-kun…" mumbled L weakly, blinking rapidly as though trying to rid himself of an image in a childish manner.

Light crawled out of the swivel chair and appeared beside the slightly older man. His slender arms snaked around L's waist and the student nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck.

"What are you afraid of, Ryuzaki-kun?" murmured Light.

A silence engulfed the two, the only noises being the rain hitting the windowpanes and the occasional clap of thunder. The latter forced L to press his knees closer – if that was even possible – to his chest.

"T-The th-thunder…" The detective rarely stuttered, and when he did, Light's grip became tighter and much more protective. He kissed the pale flesh closest to his lips and looked up at the shuddering mess that was L.

The sleuth's eyes were wider than ever and his mouth was quivering violently.

"You're... You're really frightened, aren't you?" Light breathed, but his voice was covered by another bang. L jumped, toppling over and landing on the younger one's torso, body tense and goosebumps evident on his milky white skin.

Skinny arms held the man tightly and Light rested his chin on the top of L's head. Light needed to get him to calm down, that much was obvious. And without a second thought, the raven-haired man was forcibly turned around and facing the other.

"L-Light-kun…"

Light leaned forward and placed his lips on L's nose, then moved to each cheek, his forehead, his jaw, his chin, and then finally planted a small, chaste kiss on L's lips. He cupped his face with his hands and stroked the skin with his thumb.

Thunder erupted around them and the insomniac leaped forward, embracing Light tightly.

"Breathe, Ryuzaki-kun," Light cooed into L's ear. "Focus on my breathing and nothing more." Light brought L closer to him and noticed a small change in the detective's stature after a couple of minutes passed. He was a bit more peaceful now, obeying Light and attempting to ignore the heavens' anger personified as vociferous rumbles. "Just breathe…"


	2. Somniphobia

**Somniphobia –**

_the fear of sleep._

The incessant clacking of keys on a computer's keyboard filled the room, and though the owner of the fingers that slammed down onto the letters attempted to keep the noise down as to let the man beside him on the bed sleep, it was utterly pointless.

No matter how hard he tried, as long as he was awake, so would his significant other.

Incoherent mumbles passed the lips of the slumbering auburn haired teenager as he shifted underneath the blankets. His eyelids twitched and a yawn escaped his throat as he sat up drowsily, stretching to release the tension in his still-tired bones.

_Click-clack. Click-clack. Click._

The keyboard's buttons were hit even harder now, as if the man whose fingers pressed down on them was becoming increasingly impatient for some unknown reason. The large, dark eyes stared down at the screen in front of him, the various documents and programs reflecting on the retinas. Back hunched, breathing steady, and spindly hands hovering over the machine, the muddled black haired man whispered into the air.

"Go back to sleep, Light-kun."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Light sit up straight, rubbing his eyes childishly and shaking his head.

"I thought you were going to bed too, Ryuzaki." His voice was muffled with tiredness as he called L by the nickname he had asked the Japanese task force to use, but Light still kept his tone of curiosity intact. Though it seemed like a stupid question after he voiced it, the detective worried him quite a bit. And even if he would never actually voice this unless some sort of odd situation called for it, Ryuzaki still frightened him at times. The pressure of him being the world renowned crime solver "L", the entire Kira case…

"I do not sleep, Light-kun. But you do, and you should be doing just that." L's voice was forcibly calm, but the exhaustion – whether emotional or physical or perhaps both, Light could not tell – was evident. "Please…" he added as an afterthought, placing his thumb to his lips thoughtfully without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Every human needs some sort of rest," Light argued, "and who knows whether all of these all-nighters will affect your ability to work?"

L squinted and faced the auburn-haired boy. "I've been able to go weeks without sleep fine before. There should be no difference now and there never will be."

His sudden show of anger was surprising and only increased Light's wonderment. The detective never showed any sort of emotion unless completely necessary, and anger or frustration was rare, if not absolutely missing from L's mind. Light shook his head slightly and put a nearly trembling hand on the insomniac's shoulder, rubbing the thin white fabric softly.

L's eyes drooped a bit before opening even wider, grumbling incoherently and shrugging off Light. His generally robotic personality had disappeared now, emotions breaking down the barriers of his mind and causing a ruckus.

But then Light noticed something. L had been fine before the topic of slumbering had been brought up. Was it because the great investigator was _terrified_? That was preposterous to even theorize, yet the way his body had tensed and how the calm, impassive illusion had been thrown violently out the window had just made it not _completely_ impossible.

Just kind of stupid to think about…

"Light-kun, please go back to sleep. Fretting over meaningless distractions will not be beneficial to your health." L's usual monotone voice sounded almost exasperated.

"I'm not sleeping until I know that you're going to bed as well," Light replied stubbornly. This _fear_ – there was honestly no other word to describe it – needed to be annihilated. It was just like Light had said before: No human being could survive without sleep, and the great L was no exception.

The detective sighed softly, closing his laptop and turning to stare at Light. Now that the artificial light source had been shut off, the bedroom was thrown into the shadows, the only illumination being pale slivers of moonlight peeking behind the curtains and falling on the two males.

"What's wrong, Ryuzaki? I want the truth." The student was edging dangerously close to the term "begging", and he was surprisingly aware of that, but he did not care.

_The first step to conquering a fear is to admit that you have one,_ the student thought.

A pregnant pause overtook the pair as L closed his eyes and exhaled noisily.

"C'mon Ryuzaki," whispered Light, both hands on the older man's shoulders, "don't you trust me?"

"It is not a matter of trust, Light," L muttered, "It's a matter of pride and the fact that I do not wish to lose it." His composure was becoming normal once more, but it was perfectly clear that that was an illusion at the moment; L was obviously attempting to hide from Light.

"Are you afraid?" Light inquired boldly. And when L gave the slightest indication that he was indeed scared of something, the auburn haired boy inched nearer to the sleuth, their faces now inches apart. "What about it makes you frightened?" The softness of his voice astounded even him.

L's eyes twitched underneath his eyelids, scrunching together tighter than ever, as if holding back demons and monsters that he did not wish for Light to see. After what seemed like a lifetime, the detective opened his mouth to speak, his voice barely a whisper.

It was time for L to bite the bullet.

"I have… _always_ hated it. Nightmares, hopelessness, and… I just dislike it. When I do… sleep, it is always against my will and only for a couple of hours. It constricts me, Light-kun, and I can never stand it. It is the only time when I feel… powerless."

Without a second thought, lips met lips in the only thing that Light could think of as a response. It wasn't often that Light had nothing to say, but L couldn't help but chuckle inwardly at the sudden desperation to get the last word in. Though, once the genius thought about it, this wasn't exactly the "last word", but he disregarded the technicality of it all.

For this rare moment, they were both in bliss.

Deepening the kiss, the two tongues battled for dominance against one another. Light's fingers latched on to the raven locks of L's, almost like a silent agreement never to let go, no matter what the cost or consequences. The older one pulled the younger closer, yearning and pleading for protection from the fairy tale villains that would plague him should he fall into the subconscious.

The blend of intimacy died down when Light pulled away a bit, removing his hands from L's hair only to fall down to the white shirt clad back, arms tightening into a comforting embrace.

"Even if the nightmares come, Ryuzaki, I'll still be here." L relaxed even more against him, and Light could have sworn he heard a deep sigh emit from the investigator's throat. "I'll chase the monsters away and powerless or not, you'll get through the night now."

The two lay down, L leaning on Light as the pillows propped them up. The insomniac's eyes drooped sleepily and he finally allowed them to, not bothering to fight. For Light's arm was wrapped tenderly around his slender waist, not willing to let go for a mere second. That was the only security blanket that L needed really.

A small smile appeared as a shadow on the L's lips as he finally fell asleep.


	3. Necrophobia

**Necrophobia –**

_the fear of death._

From the moment in time where he had been exposed to the phenomenon that was death, everything in existence had become surreal. The Grim Reaper had become real then; it was no longer bound within the iron bars of myths and thick, dust-covered books. He saw ghosts everywhere; he swore on the breath that kept him alive that they followed him around as though they were his shadows. God had become authentic to him then, as had the Devil, and the mere fact that he had no control over things like death and life and humanity itself.

And, to put it quite bluntly, it scared the living shit out of him.

But then, he discovered a black-covered notebook placed on the grass outside of his school and his world was turned upside down. And he completely lost it. The _Death Note_ was the key to his worst nightmares and greatest dreams. He was so close to being both God and Satan themselves that he could no longer tell whether or not he was himself or not.

Yet, he could not recall any of that.

He was aware that he was more than likely criminally insane. He was _Kira_ after all; he was _God of the New World_… right? No, he couldn't be. But… what if he was? His thinking was close enough to the serial killer's. Sure, he thought the world would be better off without some people but to actually slaughter millions of people worldwide? He would never stoop to such levels, right?

"Light-kun has been staring at me for the past five minutes. Does he wish to consume some of my cake?" A monotone voice had cut into his thoughts like a knife. Blinking, he shook his head and took his hand away from his face, sitting up straight in his swivel chair.

"N-No, thank you, Ryuzaki, but I was just thinking," he stuttered as the black-haired detective stared at him from his crouching position not even five feet away from him.

Ryuzaki set down his small plate, fork beside it, and faced the teenager fully. Cocking his head childishly, the sleuth studied him for a moment before stating quite plainly, "And if I may ask: What exactly were you pondering that you lost all sense of reality, Light-kun?"

Silence engulfed the two, the tension unnoticed by the other men on the investigation team. The adolescent's eyes widened a tad, rivaling that of the owl-like expression worn by Ryuzaki. He couldn't have been serious, right? This was a trick; this was _all_ a damned trick set up by this eccentric, candy eating, no-shoe-wearing, messy haired, baggy eyed, crouching investigator! Light was the number one suspect of this Kira murder case in the first place! Hell, he could have been Kira for all he knew!

_I… suppose I really am insane…_ thought Light somewhat hysterically.

"Ryuzaki, what…" His voice drifted off, the last syllable hanging off of a thread. Ryuzaki tilted his head a bit farther to the right, chewing on his thumbnail and appearing expectant. "L…" he tried again, using the detective's "real" name instead of some idiotic codename. "What do you think the idea of d-death can do to some people?"

L's hand drew away from his mouth, his usually stony features contorting into obvious confusion. "Elaborate, Light-kun."

_Oh, dear God, why?!_

"I-It's just… maybe Kira is a-afraid of death and God and Hell and everything to do with the afterlife and maybe that fuels his want to control that which no mortal can and maybe that's why he kills and wants to become something close to a god and he's afraid of dying so he kills off criminals and anyone that may wish to do him harm and oh God, I'm rambling aren't I?!" Light buried his face embarrassedly in his hands as every thought that had been rushing through his mind poured out of his mouth at lightning speed. His bewilderment and fears had taken over his mind, leaving all normality in his brain turned to mush.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! Idiot! Stop stuttering and _stop_ with the goddamned rambling! You sick, sick,_ sick_ little boy! Ugh, you're so thick it's sickening!_ His inner voice was not adding any comfort to his already unstable sense of mentality.

A spindly hand was grazing the flesh pulled over his skull, index finger and thumb placed underneath his chin and taking him away from his hiding place; a hideaway he silently cried out to be brought back to. L's eyes were closer to his own now, examining him like a computer would to data. Light's mouth fell open in surprise at the sudden show of emotion, though not necessarily outward, he could still see it nonetheless.

"That theory is exceptional, Light-kun," whispered L so that no one else could hear him but the auburn-haired boy before him. "But there is no need to cry." And it was at that moment that Light became aware of the salty tears slowly and steadily trailing down his cheeks. With one sweep of his free hand, L had wiped them away.

"I-I apologize, Ryuzaki-san."

"There is no need to say that you're sorry, Light-kun." Was that a hint of a smile? No, no, no, Light's eyes were playing tricks on him. "Now please, let us return to this data that needs cracking." L gazed up at Light from his slouched spot and leaned in, allowing his icy, chapped lips to place a chaste kiss momentarily on the teen's nose before turning and sliding back to his work area.

Light stayed frozen in his seat for a solid minute, incomprehension etched across his face. Had "the great L" just_ kissed_ him?! Touching the very place that the sleuth's lips had come in contact with him, he experienced a sensation that he had never felt beforehand. His skin was tingling in such an alien way that Light nearly ran out of the room in search of the nearest mirror just so that he could make sure that he wasn't deteriorating. A heat spread out on his cheeks and down the back of his neck, and Light, knowing all-too-well what _this _particular feeling was, turned quickly back to look down at his monitor.

He could have been Kira. He could have been a lunatic. The percentages did not lie.

But Light, fingers dancing along the keyboard as he worked persistently, knew that one thing still lay true in his heart, and the epitome of that very truth was sat beside him; that man was the very reason that he was blushing.

_Justice would prevail over all. Even Heaven, Hell, and death._


	4. Philophobia

**Philophobia –**

_the fear of falling in love or being in love_

"The heart is a mysterious thing."

He always comprehended that much: that the soul was nothing to toy with and that one should stay clear from someone else's. Emotions were, quite frankly, the devil in this situation. They wanted him to hurt and to smart from cuts that were dealt to his own being; his _soul_, if such a thing existed, would diminish into dust within his spirit if emotions fell into place. That was why he enveloped his entire body into a state of metaphoric holy water in order to evade feelings as if they were the Black Death.

He couldn't afford to lose whatever strands of sanity that his brain stubbornly clasped on to.

And so, the patterns that controlled his life as if they were literally brainwashing him continued. His personality took shape, his intelligence was emphasized, and all was put into place. The great detective L was formed, and the world had a hero that hid in the shadows as though even his image would give away his secret identity; his alter ego.

L was Superman; L was Batman; L was Spiderman.

_L was a coward._

He knew that too. As he typed harshly on his computer keyboard, black eyes concentrating unblinkingly at the monitor before him, he reflected on how much of his ego was a humongous lie. He was not a machine. L was not a mannequin fit to be poised and dressed to the Interpol's liking. Yet, he practically allowed this – or at least, in his head, he did._ He was a fucking coward._

The detective played that word over in his head, the syllables beginning to sound like musical instruments after a while. **Coward, coward, coward, COW-ard, cow-ARD, COWARD. **A symphony played in a monotone. A scared, meek sound blasted away by a mocking, childish conductor, playing favorites with the brass as the winds sat in their chairs with nothing to do but watch. His fears were the inspiration for this piece of disaster, and he was merely sitting in the VIP seat, ready to jump off the fucking balcony.

_So take the plunge, scaredy-cat!_

"Ryuzaki, are you listening to me?"

The voice slammed into him at a hundred miles per hour, forcing him to twist his neck painfully in order to look full-face at the speaker: an auburn-haired teenage boy. The boy looked at L; Ryuzaki; whomever the shell of a man was now with mahogany eyes, outwardly showing polite curiousness, though inside, L knew that the boy was annoyed and would not enjoy having his last nerve worked on at the moment. Or ever, really.

"No, I wasn't, Light-kun," L replied in an emotionless, almost bored sounding voice. "Would you repeat what you asked, please?"

"I was telling you that you've been typing for about five minutes, yet the computer is off," Light smirked, gesturing airily towards the machinery that was, _of-fucking-course_, powered down.

L withdrew his hands from the keyboard, resting them upon the knee caps that lay just underneath his chin, drawing his legs closer to his body. His mind was going, he could feel it, and soon Near or Mello or Matt would take up the position of "L" while he went insane in a mental facility. It didn't take a _genius _to guess that much, and the detective mentally sighed at the thought, placing his forehead on his jean-clothed legs, coal eyes still wide and aware.

Or, perhaps, his eyes wouldn't close in fear of something getting him; a monster underneath his bed, in the closet, _in his head_ waited for the moment he shut his eyes and succumbed to the dreams that he only wished to be reality. But the plot had been written and fate was one of the few things mortals couldn't escape.

L's heart was palpitating, though he couldn't uncover an explanation as to why, and he mentally cursed himself for that damned fluke. Was he not the greatest detective this century had ever spewed out? How could he not figure out something about himself?!

A rustle of movement sounded from beside him and when a hand appeared on his shoulder, every single muscle tensed almost excruciatingly, willing and yearning for the touch to disintegrate into nothingness; into hydrogen and oxygen and carbon dioxide. But the faux-telepathic message must not have reached Light for the hand in question proceeded to spin L around as if he were a top that small children would play with in order to face him, even though the older man's countenance was still hidden from sight.

"Ryuzaki." L shuddered inside at the sound of his alias. How his former "heir to the name of L" had died because of that name, how much he absolutely despised his "name" and everything that had to do with it. And the fact that that small amount of rage was pouring into him made him feel much worse.

_He was supposed to be a robot for God's sake._

"Ryuzaki!" This time it was more forceful, more curious. The sleuth kept his face crammed against his legs, stubbornly refusing to look the teen in the face. A breath of air was exhaled and then another hand joined the other on the opposite shoulder. "Ryuzaki, please look at me."

He had half a mind to yell "No!" and run away like a little kid, but a moment later he remembered the handcuffs that kept the pair chained together and pushed the idea to the back of his head.

Light let out a sigh and moved his hands so that they were cupping L's face, pushing it upwards forcefully and L had no reason to resist. He couldn't, he shouldn't, and he didn't. An expression of utter confusion and interest laced the adolescent's face, and L knew that he was awaiting an explanation that he just couldn't muster up. Words were lost to him, and all he could hear now was the _thump-thump, thump-thump_ of his heart. The beat moved with the song of **COW-ard, cow-ARD** and L chewed his bottom lip apprehensively.

He wasn't meant to be like this. With emotions and feelings and a heart.

"Are you okay?" The boy's voice was the sincerest the detective had ever heard it sound like.

The first reply that ran through his head was, "Why do you even care?" but L knew that to say that would equal confrontation that he could not deal with, and so he said nothing.

"If you don't answer me, it only proves that you aren't, Ryuzaki." Light moved closer as if to investigate L with more scrutiny, which only increased the strangled beating that was occurring in the raven-haired man's chest. "So why not tell me? What's the harm in that?"

Everything fell into place in a matter of a couple of seconds. L's heart felt as if it had stopped and his blood almost went cold as he leaned up, pressing his forehead against Light's, breathing slowly in shaking bursts that even he couldn't control. Without a second thought, his voice came out in a whisper, "I'm scared."

Mahogany eyes widened. "What are you afraid of?"

A short lived, almost nonexistent and unwanted touch of the lips and a mumbled reply: "You."


	5. Schiophobia

**Schiophobia -**

_the fear of shadows._

They were invisible people only characterized by the black trails they left behind, shadows of demons beneath the soil and concrete attempting to break free from the confines of Hell. Literally, they were shadows, stalking him twenty-four hours, seven days a week. His eyes would twitch back and forth in fear of his own doppelgänger would rise up from the ground and kill him, only to wear his own skin in the process.

He could not, would not lose his soul. And definitely, under no circumstances, to a shadow.

And then the Shinigami flew into his life like a whirlwind, along with the powers to kill with only a name and a face. Terrifying? Yes. Tempting? Of course. Mind-altering? Only for him, he thought. The shadows, this time, were real and in the form of the Death God named Ryuk. Followed everywhere, taking the snide comments and jeers about how "humans were a riot" every five seconds, his heart would throw itself against his ribs and his throat would constrict.

_No where, no where, no where to run now...!_

But it was those days of blissful ignorance, no longer wishing to kill the great detective L but to work alongside him in a battle of wits and strength against the third Kira that definitely shocked him back into his longstanding fear. Though, he denied ever being frightened; his head would never allow him to admit to a weakness, not when he was supposed to be so _robotic_, not when he was supposed to be the stoic genius that he had made himself out to be.

The shadows would never get him.

This thought repeatedly ran through the boy's – because that was really all that he was: a scared child – brain as he lay down on the couch set in the gigantic Kira investigation headquarters, while the man chained to him via five foot long chain and a pair of handcuffs worked on his laptop, unblinking doe eyes gazing at his computer screen in deep concentration, a slight hum working its way passed his lips. The boy, however, merely stared up at the stark white ceiling, a leg dangling off of the edge of the couch, obviously transfixed by something, given the expression he was now wearing.

"Ryuzaki?" he mumbled, though his mind screamed for him to shut up.

The detective glanced up from his work for a moment before looking back down again and saying in his signature monotone, "What is it, Light-kun?"

Light bit his lip in silence. The shadows above him moved around, their faces but black images painted on as though they were cartoons, yet he could see them smirking and clawing towards him threateningly. _Save me, don't let them get me..._

"And who exactly should I save you from, Light-kun?"

... Had he said that aloud? Light's eyes widened quite noticeably, sitting straight up in defiance as L watched him over the machine resting on the coffee table that separated them. Though the older man's face was expressionless, Light could have sworn that a smidge of curiosity lay there somewhere.

"Well?" asked L softly after a minute of sheer quietness.

Light's face showed the inner struggle he was having. To finally admit it or not? It was honestly easier said than done when the act of actually speaking of his fear – oh, he knew it was a fear; deep inside of himself, he understood what this _weakness_ was – came into question. And when he finally spoke, his voice came out in something much, much louder than he had intended it to be.

"Save me from the shadows... _please_!"

The detective raised his gaze to the ceiling, where the dancing ghouls rested, talons and fangs protruding aggressively, invisible eyes glowing the darkest of blacks, the kind that bore into one's soul and drenched them in cold. L raised his thumb to his mouth, chewing on the nail gently as he thought, eerily aware of the teenager sitting across from him visibly trembling.

Light's desperate whispers of the word "please" were drowned out by L. "They will never hurt you, Light-kun."

The boy was shocked. "Why? How come?!"

L smiled a bit as he replied quietly, "Because I would never allow them to."


	6. Hypsiphobia

I'm feeling unusually sappy and somewhat in the mood for pure, unadulterated angst.  
So alas, this is the result of a Saturday afternoon/night.  
And you know what? I shamelessly adore this one. (:

* * *

**Hypsiphobia -**

_the fear of heights._

He was falling. Not physically, no, but metaphorically. His heart, his mind, his thoughts, his feelings, his everything was dropping through the air and hitting the unforgiving, cold streets below. His eyes finally closed after years of being forcefully kept open, body crumpled like a doll's – limp and boneless and _dead_. But his wings had not jutted out of his back just yet, and then – only then – would he be able to jump; to fly; to face those heights by himself.

Nobody else.

Humming a soft tune, he took deep breaths as he faced the open sky only seen from atop the roof of the headquarters. So high up and far down; his heart threatened to jump from his chest and soar over the edge of the rooftop at the very thought of how close to Heaven he was and how very far away he was from Hell, from the Devil. He trembled slightly, the freezing night air rattling his bones as if they were pieces of a xylophone because that was all that he was: an instrument. He was no closer to God than the damned serial killer he was attempting to apprehend; he was a play-thing, a puppet, a robot, a _thing_.

And puppets were not supposed to be afraid of dying, of flying, of soaring, of crying. That was meant for the humans; he was definitely no human being.

_Freak, freak, freak, you're the black sheep of us all. Save the world, change the world, it'll make no difference. Nothing, nothing, nothing will stay clean forever. Look at your hands! Stained red, red, red like the blood you wish you had! Face your fears, little android, and jump from the edge._

He stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, white shirt now drenched in a cold sweat. Eyes wide open at the sudden loss of control over his thoughts, he cried out softly in the despair that he had not felt in so long; emotions plagued him as they literally flooded him from the inside out in the form of tears. Voices... They needed to get out. He was not crazy. Not now and not ever. He would be _damned_ if he was crazy! He was not, not, not, _not_.

All he had to do was get up and approach the edge...

But the drop; the fall; the desire to be one step nearer to God... How could he do that if he was falling down? That would mean that he was going to Hell if he was falling and not floating, not flying, not soaring above the clouds that had trapped him upon the wasteland that was Earth for _so long_.

"Someone help me," he whispered aloud inadvertently, eyes closed tightly in a vain attempt to cease the salty liquid that peeked out from behind his lids.

"Ryuzaki?" rang out a voice from behind him. _Not him, not him, oh dear God, not him!_ "What are you doing up here?"

He refused to turn around, filled to the brim of his soul with shame. He would not stare up into the arrogant face of his rival; his top suspect. That was the equivalent of gazing from the edge of the rooftop towards the streets below; it was the equivalent of death itself.

"Ryuzaki?" Silence. "L?" Using the shivering, crying man's "real" name drew the line.

But before L could enunciate a defiant retort, quiet footsteps sounded from behind him, growing nearer and nearer until they were right beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, a pale face topped with auburn hair popped into view, an expression of sincere concern on the teenager's face. The boy reached out to grasp L's shoulder, but was shrugged off harshly.

_Don't fall yet. Not yet, not yet, not now, now, now._

"Ryuzaki, tell me why you're up here," spoke the teenager so quietly that it was barely even a murmur, "_crying_."

An incoherent mumble was all that met the boy, and his mahogany eyes tried to find the black ones that he should have despised above all else. This moment, though, was an exception and he knew that and his heart was cherishing it. No hate, no tiring game of Cat and Mouse, no talk of supernatural notebooks or Death Gods, just two childish men; one the predator while the other was the prey, but right now, they were both the prey.

"What was that?" He forced the detective to turn slightly, though the shock of black hair that spiked out of L's head hid his face from view._ Tears should not be seen by the fucking enemy._

"Go away, Light." Aggressive, grave, lacking of the monotone that usually graced L's words. "Go away, go away, go away right now." Desperation, anger, pitiful.

Light shook his head quickly, hands placed firmly on the slightly weeping man. "If I did that – no, I would _never_ do that. Not when someone – not when _you're_ acting like this." Never would he allow himself to leave someone when they were so-very-much hurting.

Especially not when it was the stoic detective he had been acquainted with for months on end.

The skeletal hands that were attached to L snaked around himself tightly as if he wished to strangle himself; break his ribs and stab his heart and lungs, muttering, "... fly but I can't."

Light raised his eyebrows, staring at the child-like older man before him, asking, "What was that?"

And at that, L looked up sharply, eyes void of anything – life itself had been erased from those eyes that had once hid that of a genius – talking in a quickened, panicked, _frantic_ voice, "I'm supposed to soar and all I have to do is jump," he nodded swiftly towards the edge of the building that was scarily – though only to the sleuth – far off, "and I have to fly but I can't."

"Why... do you have to fly?"

"I can't stay here anymore."

"Why?"

L struggled to further himself from Light's grip but failed miserably. Despite the strength difference, L was in absolutely no position of getting away; not when tears still fell in front of his arch rival.

But Light was not his rival at that moment.

"I don't want to be here anymore!" L shrieked out, voice trembling with what eerily sounded like pain and fear. "The Devil won't catch me if I'm gone but if I'm falling and not... and not _flying_ then I will be!" He hiccuped. "And... and I don't want to fall..."

Light pulled L closer to him, embracing him in what could only be called a hug. Muffled sobs erupted from the man, arms pinned to the other's chest as he continued to wish and pray for wings; pretty wings, not demons' wings; _Shinigami_ wings, no, but angel wings. He wanted warmth and for his heart to beat normally, not for this overactive organ to go on with its palpitating rhythm of hopelessness.

"Ryuzaki... L..." whispered Light as he held L closer to him still, tighter and tighter as the cries almost subsided.

"What is it, Light?" mumbled the older man into the younger one's jacket.

"I'll be your wings."


	7. Aphenphosmphobia

Because not everything I write in this collection has to end with kissing. (:

* * *

**Aphenphosmphobia –**

_the fear of being touched_

The handcuffs had been a horrible idea; it was more of a death wish than anything. Any small, fragmented sensation of skin meeting skin would send goosepimples bursting up on his hands and his wrists and his forearms. He would hide them easily, thanking himself for the colorless long sleeves of his shirt, and moved as far away as the multiple feet of chain would allow.

There were times, looking back, where the detective could not stem his hatred of the other man. He _despised_ him, even. A plethora of moments where he just wanted to kick him away, but then realized that that would mean touching him in some way. The plan was thrown out of his file cabinet-brain immediately.

L kept himself clear of Light, but yet again, the chains of the elder's lack of foresight kept them together like bugs stuck to a trap. And whenever the iron jangled upon the tiled floor, L would feel himself tense enormously, fingers almost incapable of continuing their fast-paced typing. His heart beat quickly and he felt beads of perspiration form upon his forehead.

It took a while to realize the term he was looking for was "_frightened_."

And he would mentally kick himself; the supposedly great detective scared out of his wits because of a little touch, an invasion of his personal space for a second? No. No, no, no, no, no. Not possible!

"Ryuzaki," Light said one afternoon, arm outstretched towards L, palm facing upward. L stared. "I need those documents you printed out from last night, please."

L lifted the small pile of papers, littered with graphs and charts and numbers, up in his so-called peculiar way and handed them to the mahogany-haired man without a word. He forced his limbs to quit their trembling as he did so, gaze now glued to his computer monitor; the documents were taken away with a mumbled "thank you."

And L could not help but notice the contact his hand made with Light's.

He tried to hide his blush, his shaking, his closed eyes as he fought back the upsurge of hatred and confusion and terror.

The detective knew that Light could see it, regardless. But the other man remained silent.


End file.
